


Bright Future (Can't Fight Fate)

by carolion



Series: Fated [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't his scene, and he knows that. <i>Cook and Archie meet in 2007 at an MWK concert.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Future (Can't Fight Fate)

**Author's Note:**

> I MAJORLY fucked with timelines/ages/pretty much everything. This takes place in 2007, post Cook's pre-Idol album, but pre-American Idol. Cook is twenty five. And on tour with MWK. Archie, however, is nineteen. And the oldest in his family. Like I said, I fucked with timelines and ages for my own perverse pleasure, you're welcome. (Also this version of Archie is a little more ~experienced. He's Archie, he's just... an AU version of him.)

David shivers as the crowd around him pulses, not because it was like, cold or anything, gosh just the opposite it was so _hot_ , but because the guy on stage, the one with the guitar and the smoky eyes and the cocky smirk and the – the really good _voice_ , because that guy is singing in this low, sexy way, and he is staring into the crowd like he – with _intent_.

David is - this isn't his scene, and he knows it, but Claudia and Daniel were _always_ making fun of him for like, never getting out of the house or something, and he so does! He's not some sort of hermit, it's just weird to go places alone, and he's usually got homework to do or a final to study for when his friends want to, whatever, go bowling or karaoke (and karaoke is the most embarrassing thing ever, _gosh_ ) so he usually just stays home. But when he finds out Claudia's "favorite band ever" (or so she says) is playing a concert at the local community college, he does the nice brother thing and takes her.

She was all “oh my gosh! Davey you’re my favorite!” and flung herself at him, which had been nice, he guessed, but it _wasn’t_ nice of her to have favorites. (He didn’t tell her that though, just sort of laughed and hugged her and asked her if she minded if he came? She laughed at him for a full minute before saying, “Seriously?” and then getting really enthusiastic and sneaky looking which, yeah, he totally had not trusted.) All he had known about the band is that they had a weird acronym name and Claudia liked to play their music really loudly and sing along which, um. So he went into the concert totally blind, only knowing that they were a rock band and Claudia was so into them it was kind of weird.

But now he’s actually here, and like, the music is just _pounding_ around them, and it turns out that one of the members of MWK has just put out a solo album or something, so they are doing songs off it and, and David can’t even _handle_ it. He’s _so_ good. His voice is kind of ridiculous, the way it goes up and hits those notes, and how it growls out choruses and just, the way he _stalks_ on stage. They are _really_ close, mostly because Claudia can be super pushy, gosh, and she’s totally swooning over that Andy person, the um, the lead singer for MWK, but David is way too focused on the – what was his name? – other guitarist, the one with the voice and the eyes and the, um, thighs, and tattoos, and his hair was all messed up and sweaty, and his grin was so, like, infectious.

Eventually the band goes back to playing MWK songs, and they’re really good too, actually, even though rock isn’t really David’s favorite type of music, the lead singer is really good. (Not, um, not as good as the other guy, in his opinion, but he thinks a lot of that has to do with the fact that the other guy had like, licked the microphone stand which should _not_ have been hot because, um, ew? Dirty? But, oh my gosh, David totally felt hot all over and kind of, like, achy.) He’s glad that Claudia is having a good time, shaking her hair and laughing, and screaming out the lyrics and trying to tug at Andy’s jean cuff, and he finds that he’s actually enjoying himself too, lost in the waves of sound and the energy of the band. It’s cool, even though every time he looks over at the guitarist he, his stomach kind of clenches up and he wonders what it would be like to have that much confidence and play music like this. He wonders what it’s like to be, well, _sexy_ like that. Then he promptly blushes and banishes the word from his mind, because, well.

David disentangles himself from the crowd as they shift and press, because it’s getting way too hot and he could really use a drink. There’s a little table filled with bottled waters, and one bored looking guy reclining in a chair behind it. David approaches timidly and takes a water bottle, cautiously looking at the guy like, is this okay? He waves his hand dismissively so David figures he doesn’t need to pay for it anything.

He finds a spot to lean against the wall without looking too awkward (or so he hopes – he’s really bad at being, um, not-awkward, so he probably looks awkward doing this, even if someone else would make it look normal) and watches the stage. The bands have changed now, and he wonders if Claudia will try to come find him or stay to watch the other one. He can’t see her – she’s probably going to stay. The thing about his family is how much they all love music, it’s kind of insane. Well, maybe not insane, considering how they were like, born and raised on it, but the passion they have has stayed with them through their childhood and their teenage years. It’s not really a surprise that Claudia stays in the mix, and besides, she _likes_ the crush of people, likes to be in the middle of it all. David prefers singing in the shower, listening to music on repeat in his bedroom, perching on a grassy knoll at a concert and closing his eyes as the music drifts over to him. It’s just a – it’s a difference in taste.

He uncaps the water bottle and tilts his head back to take a few long gulps closing his eyes and letting the liquid slide down his throat. He can hear the other band setting up and talking into their mics, a little raucous laughter from the crowd – they were probably telling some sort of joke. He doesn’t hear the shuffle of boots on the floor next to him, doesn’t notice the guy who is right next to him until he’s drank half the water bottle (wow, he was way thirstier than he’d thought!) and finally opens his eyes.

“Oh my gosh!” he yelps, and tries to jump backwards, but um, hello, there is a _wall_ there, so he pretty much just bangs his head and winces. But there’s this guy, like, right in his face, super close. How was he supposed to react?

“Jesus, you okay?”

And David looks, and the guy is like, _reaching for his head_ , his palm cupped like he’s going to smooth over David’s hair. David flinches and moves away, his eyes flickering from the hand to the face that is way, way in his personal space. He immediately groans, because it’s _the guy_ , the guitarist with the arms and the, um, jeans, and lips and necklaces jangling around his throat. He can feel his cheeks burning already and, gosh, this cannot end well.

“Um, yes? Can you, can you back up a little?” He feels awkward and hot all over, and the guitarist is smirking, like he knows something that David doesn’t, but he does lean back a little. That’s a lot better in some respects, except now David can see like, all of him, with the deep v-neck t-shirt and his pretty eyes and his weirdly sexy messy hair. David doesn’t want to stare, but he made the mistake of looking up into the other guy’s eyes, and, oh, he’s kind of like, um, melting or something.

“Did you need something?” He asks, trying to be as polite as possible while still not, whatever, drooling. Because the guitarist is, one hand is braced against the wall next to David, and it’s sort of trapping him, and David notices the other hand is loosely holding a bottle of beer, and shouldn’t alcohol like, not be allowed? After all this is, there are people under the drinking age here, like _himself_ for example, gosh.

“What are you doing here, man?” the guy asks, and it’s sort of mocking, but it’s not really that mean, because his face goes a little softer, not so smirky and more just curious, his eyes bright and rapt on David’s face, like he’s a puzzle that needs solving. It’s really weird to have that sort of focus on him, and he doesn’t even know why this is happening.

“For the concert? Um, this is still a free country, right?” He can tell he surprises the guy, because his eyebrows goes up a few millimeters and then he throws back his head and laughs, exposing the long line of his neck which looks a little grimy from where sweat has dried, but, wow this really shouldn’t be happening at all. David can feel his body winding up, tensing even more, and the heat flushes throughout him, setting even his toes on fire.

“Are you for real?” the guy asks, when he’s done laughing. David just stares at him, confused, until he sighs and pushes away from David (thank _goodness_ ), pausing to switch his beer bottle to the other hand and extend his right hand. “I’m David.”

“Um.” David doesn’t really know what to say to that. This is sort of… awkward. But at least ‘the guy’ has a name, and David doesn’t have to keeping thinking of him as, um, well it wasn’t really – it doesn’t matter what he was calling him in his head, now he has a name. It’s just weird that they have the same name. “Me too? I mean, I’m David too.”

“No shit?” David, well the _other_ David, holds his hand for a long time, looking amused and, like, sneaky. Or maybe not sneaky, just, kind of like he’s plotting. It’s sort of--sort of hot, if David’s being honest. “My last name is Cook, just call me Cook then.”

David doesn’t really have an intention of calling this guy _anything_ but he does have the fleeting fantasy of calling out _’Cook!’_ and arching up in a bed while Cook, um, does things. Just that barest thought and David stiffens, tangled up in his desires as the fantasy unfolds a little in his head, revealing naked skin and, gosh were there more tattoos? And, oh, oh _no_. It was embarrassing enough to be attracted to, whatever, _Cook_ , but imagining him doing those types of things… No, not happening. Cook is giving him this funny little look though, a half-smile on his face, and David’s not sure what to make of that. He realizes, a little belatedly, that’s he probably supposed to say something _back_.

“Oh! Um, I’m David. David Archuleta.” He watches as Cook makes a face, and feels irrationally protective of his name.

“Archuleta? Whatever, I’ll think of something.” Cook waves a hand and David frowns a little – think of something? _Why?_ Why was Cook even _talking_ to him? Shouldn’t he be like, trying to sleep with the girls who go to this college?

Cook stares at him, surprised. Oops. Did he say that out loud? There’s an awkward moment where they just stare at each other, and then Cook leans forward and bursts out laughing, practically burying his face into David’s shoulder, and it’s so weird, oh my gosh! Cook is like, touching him kind of a lot _already_ , and this, David can feel him laughing! He tenses up, but Cook doesn’t move for several seconds, his loud laughs muffled by David’s flannel shirt and the loud music pouring from the stage. He does pull off eventually though, slapping a hand to his mouth like he’s covering a few lingering giggles.

“Oh man,” he sighs, his cheeks flushed, “you are a piece of work, did you know that?”

David kind of wants to say, ‘Um, no, _you’re_ the piece of work, with your weird hair and your tattoos, and the swearing and beer gut and obscene t-shirt and unfairly sexy voice, I’m what they call a _nice guy_ ’ but he bites down on the insides of his cheeks and says nothing at all. He’s just hoping Cook goes away before he notices what kind of effect he’s having on David, because he’s close enough that David can feel the heat from Cook’s body, and the bass from the band onstage is thumping through them, and Cook totally drinks and parties and swears and has casual sex with girls, and maybe even guys, and he’s probably broken a bunch of laws, just to be cool, and for some reason, it’s making David totally weak in the knees.

He may have a thing for bad boys, David thinks to himself miserably, as Cook’s eyes narrow and his focus goes sharp.

“You know,” Cook murmurs, “you are entirely too cute for this place.”

David blushes to his toes because, _what?_ and then looks up, confused. “What do you mean?” He looks around. It’s a nice campus – well, it’s an okay campus. There’s a lot of cement and cigarette butts littered around, and the walls or sort of grimy and are in need of a serious scrubbing, but those things can be _expensive_ , so he understands. And, anyway, how can anyone be ‘too cute’ for anywhere? It’s not like he’s better or anything.

“Have you looked at the people here?” Cook asks, incredulous. “You stick out like a sore thumb, man.” Then his face goes sly and he cocks his head. “In a good way, of course. I mean I noticed you in the crowd when we were playing.” Cook jerks his thumb back towards the stage.

“Oh,” David says, unsure of how to feel. “I brought my sister. She’s a really big fan, um, by the way. She’ll probably want your autograph or something if she sees you.”

Cook looks amused now. “You don’t want my autograph?”

“Not really? You’re a cool singer though, um, you’re really good.” He tries to sound earnest, because it’s true, actually, Cook _is_ a really good singer. A lot better than whoever is wailing on stage at the moment, that was for sure. “I’m not really into the whole ‘autograph’ thing, sorry.”

“Are you seriously apologizing? Oh my god. You’re fucking unreal.” David flinches, but Cook is smiling, and it’s not sexy or sly, it just _is_ , bright and beautiful and David thinks he may have fallen in love, just a little bit.

He’s somehow not surprised when Cook glances at the stage, then back at him, and asks “You want to go outside and talk? It’s kind of loud in here, huh?”

He is surprised, however, when he says yes and ends up following Cook out the doors and around a corner. He has this moment of fleeting panic, where it feels like his body is possessed and he can’t control himself, like he’s just following this strange guy totally blind and trusting. He doesn’t _do_ this! He’s a cautious person, protective of himself and of his family, but Cook is intoxicating, as stupid as it sounds, right on that edge of being someone fun and being someone dangerous.

It’s dark out, and David feels tense, not knowing what to expect from Cook, who turns to look at him with bright, intense eyes. He looks a lot less silly now, with his hair spiked from sweat and the chains around his neck glinting dimly in the light from the streetlamps. David stares back, jutting his chin out defiantly, and trying to keep his heart rate under control. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s so nervous – he just is. Cook makes him nervous. (But in a …good way? It doesn’t make sense. He _hates_ it.)

(He doesn’t hate it.)

Cook smiles at him, a quirk of his lips, and David can’t – he doesn’t smile back, but he can feel his chin drop, can feel his own natural shyness take over, no matter how hard he tries to be confidant, all of this attention makes him bashful.

“Why’d you come out here with me, David?” Cook asks, his voice quiet and rough, intimate. David hates it, hates how it makes his stomach shiver, hates how it makes him want to look down and away, how he backs up to the wall, his fingers sliding against the brick, searching for some sort of support.

“Um, to talk?” Because isn’t that what Cook had suggested? It was ‘too loud’ inside, and—

“Yeah, no. You don’t want to talk to me.” Cook laughs, and David looks up, frowning a little. It annoys him when people tell him what he does and doesn’t want, and he’s about to open his mouth and tell Cook this, but the other man is pressing in close, and all the words dry up in his mouth, leaving his lips parted and dry.

He licks them subconsciously, and Cook’s eyes follow the motion interestedly, and David feels hot despite the cool night air.

Cook leans forward and slides his mouth against David ear, which under normal circumstances would make David extremely uncomfortable, but now… He just holds his breath, waits for what Cook has to say.

“You came out here to be kissed,” Cook murmurs, and David nods helplessly, can feel Cook’s delighted smile against his cheek, and then his chin is being cupped by a rough palm and he’s being _kissed_. David tilts his head eagerly and grabs a fistful of Cook’s shirt, sliding the other hand up Cook’s back and pressing, keeping him close.

He can _feel_ Cook groan, feels the reverberation through his mouth and it makes his lips and tongue tingle, makes him want to giggle. He smiles against Cook’s lips instead, can’t help it, and Cook licks at his teeth so he opens his mouth and falls into wet heat. Now _he’s_ the one groaning as Cook frames his face and works him hard with his mouth, dirty tricks and playful teasing that leaves him gasping in the gap between their mouths. When Cook tilts his head up and bites at his chin, then lower on his jaw, licking down his neck to suck at his Adam’s apple, David isn’t sure he won’t agree to go home with this guy, this guy who rubs his stubble against David’s neck and makes him squirm, strokes his fingers into David’s hair and pulls, who looks likes he could probably heft David up around his waist no problem, push him up against a wall…

“Christ, Archuleta,” Cook says into his mouth, and it takes David a few hazy minutes to realize that’s _him_ , that _he’s_ Archuleta, and he stops kissing Cook to catch him breath, hadn’t even realized that his hands had wandered to Cook’s belt, his fingers wrapped around the leather, stroking against the smooth skin under his pants, brushing up against course pubic hair and wanting to seek the heat still unavailable to him.

“Oh!” he exclaims, and yanks his hands away, embarrassed.

Cook catches his hands and grins, pulling them back but lower, pressing them against the bulge in his pants.

“No, it’s cool. I just didn’t think you were the ‘handjobs-in-public-places’ kind of guy,” Cook says, leaning down to nuzzle and kiss the curve of David’s neck by his ear.

“I’m – I’m not,” David responds distractedly, too caught up the heavy weight of Cook’s thickening cock against his hands, even through the tight jeans. He can feel his own dick fill, and he longs to have Cook’s wet mouth stretched around it, but if he’s not a ‘handjobs-in-public-places’ kind of guy, he’s _definitely_ not a ‘blowjobs-in-public-places’ kind of guy.

He squeezes Cook’s growing erection firmly, likes the grunt it gets out of Cook, and then pulls his hand away reluctantly.

“I can’t,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against Cook’s jawline as the older man pants, “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Cook whines, and brushes his hand over David’s ass. It makes him tense and want to push back into the pressure. He feels a whine of his own build in his throat, but he swallows it.

“Because I’m not that kind of guy,” David says, only slightly teasing, and then takes Cook’s face in his hands and kisses him hotly, pressing his whole body against Cook’s and imagines having sex with him for a wistful moment. He pulls away and takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, and then turns to leave.

“Hey! Let me get your number, at least,” Cook calls out. David turns and smiles at him.

“Sorry, you’re, um, you’re not my type.” He’s attracted to Cook, of course he is, but he’s not the kind of guy David imagines having a future with, bringing home to his family, going out with – their friends aren’t even remotely similar. What would they even do beside having sex? Cook isn’t a boyfriend. Cook is a hookup. And David really doesn’t do hookups.

“You’re a fucking liar,” Cook says, laughing a little, and David can’t help but grin and look down at his shoes.

“If we ever run into each other again, I’ll – I’ll give you my number,” David promises, crossing his fingers behind his back and feeling fairly positive that they will never, ever meet again.

Cook tilts his head and smirks, nodding. “Alright Archuleta – but know this, I believe in fate, and I don’t think us meeting like this was an accident.”

David rolls his eyes and turns, walking away. “Goodbye Cook,” he calls over his shoulder, shaking his head.

He’s never – this was a one-time thing, caught up in the moment or something, and Cook totally took him by surprise, and he was going to go home with Claudia and listen to her chatter about the band (and hope she didn’t notice him disappearing, hope she doesn’t bring it up or act suspicious) and he’s going to forget about the hot guitarist with the _really_ talented mouth, and not think about him again. He’s going to find a nice guy who isn’t going to touch him below the belt until David guides his hands there (unlike Cook’s, whose hands had been everywhere, cupping his ass and curving around his thighs), who doesn’t have tattoos or silly facial hair, who probably won’t be able to get him to scrabble at his pants like he’s desperate for it, but who will make love nice and slow and gentle.

\--

Actually, he goes home with Claudia and they see an advertisement for American Idol auditions; she goes absolutely nuts about it and begs him to try out.

It snowballs from there.

\--

“Do I get that phone number now?”

David’s jaw drops and he turns on a dime, gaping at a very real, very smug David Cook. In Hollywood, for American Idol, just like David was.

“Cook?” David asks, making sure he wasn’t an illusion or something, because – what were the odds?

“Told you it was fate,” Cook says, smiling wide and beautiful and David thinks, okay, maybe it was.


End file.
